


Undying Dreams

by z0mbieshake



Series: Unfinished Panlix Archive [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Brainwashing, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Serial Killers, Sex Toys, Sexual Slavery, Sexual Violence, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 22:10:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15591813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/z0mbieshake/pseuds/z0mbieshake
Summary: Peter kidnaps and tortures victims into becoming his "New Felix". Decades later, he finally finds the correct one.





	Undying Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Of the unfinished Panlix fanfiction, this is probably the only one I'll never go back to, mainly because it ended up way too dark and twisted, which is odd because I wrote it in the first place. This fic was written out of order so its more like a loose collecting of events detailing Felix's kidnapping, plus key events.
> 
> WARNING: This is really, really dark. It's literally just torture porn. Please tread with caution.

Teeth nearly breaking against the plastic ball stuck in his mouth, Felix groaned in pleasure and pain as he weathered through the glass cock pounding away at his ass, fucking him ruthlessly, lubing itself to keep going without hurting Felix’s body. His wrists were bound above him, legs locked to either side of the bench, holding him still. He forced his eyes open, spotting his captor beside him with a controller in hand, salivating at the sight of Felix being ravaged by the machine

Malcolm wouldn’t take him against his will, he said. Wouldn’t force himself upon him but more than willing to let machines rape him instead. Felix’s fists tightened, wanting to glare at Malcolm with all his hate but finding his resolve and dignity too shattered to follow through. His cock throbbed, trembling from the sheer stimulation the dildo forced upon him. He threw his head back, spine arched beautifully, entrancing Malcolm with the twists of his lithe body as he came all over himself, spurts of come draining from his cock. On cue, Malcolm slowed the machine to the perfect pace to pull Felix through his afterglow. Malcolm groaned at the sight as if it was his cock pounding into Felix and bringing him to orgasm.

“Perfect,” Malcolm murmured, slowing the machine to a stop as he pulled back Felix’s sweat soaked hair, “Your reactions are just like his,” He undid the gag slowly, carefully lifting the ball from Felix’s mouth as the young man choked and whined, “I’ve got a good feeling about this.”

Felix kept his eyes shut, his body racked in tremors that refused to stop. He pulled at his bound wrists, whining pathetically when they wouldn’t give. The best he could do we pull his elbows up to cover his blushing face, “I’m not-“ He sobbed in the middle, tears pooling in his eyes, his virginity taken by a machine of all things, “I’m not who you think I am,” He choked out, “I’m not _your_ Felix. I’m not anyone you think I am,” He whined louder, breaking down with his arms covering his face, “Please stop this. _Please_ , I’ll do anything.”

Felix felt his wrists being released from the bench, the chain bounding them together being yanked forward, dragging a stumbling, sweat soaked Felix along with him. He slipped as he walked, come dripping down his stomach, tears still fresh in his eyes and Malcolm dragged him back to his room, “No more. Please no more! I’m begging you!”

“I’m sorry, Felix,” Malcolm murmured, voice so quiet and sullen, Felix almost took it to heart, “I don’t mean to hurt you like this. I never want to see you cry,” He pushed Felix forward onto his bed, “But this is the only way I can get the real you back.”

“There is no real me!” Felix shouted, climbing onto his knees and wrists, hips trembling in the air in exhaustion, “I’m not who you think I am. I’m really not,” He repeated this over and over but his words weren’t breaking through. He shuddered when Malcolm returned to his side with a needle in hand, ready to put him to sleep and ravage his dreams. Felix scrambled forward, finding himself pinned to the bed by one strong hand, “Have mercy!” He screamed, hysteric tears falling from his eyes.

Malcolm sat onto his chest, pinning his wrists beside his head, forcing the needle under his skin, “Forgive me but I have to do this. I have to be with you again.”

“I’m not—” Felix’s words died in his throat, his vision fading till everything went black.  

 

_Felix awoke on the beach, the salty scent of the sea wafting past him. He sat up slowly, watching the sliver of sunset disappear past the horizon. He must’ve fallen asleep here after the hunt, tired out by the boys constantly hounding him for lessons._

_“You’re awake,” Peter said, leaping down from the small cliff beside him, “I warded the boys off for you. Thought you deserved a good nap.”_

_“Thanks, I’m exhausted,” Felix said, yawning loudly as he rolled onto his side, immediately flinching at the sudden pain in his hips, “What a workout today,” He hummed when Peter rolled him onto his stomach slowly, hands kneading at his shoulders, straightening out knots he wasn’t even aware of, “Mm, thanks.”_

_Peter smiled back at him, “My pleasure,” He leaned in slowly, caressing Felix’s ear with his lips, “My love.”_

_Felix chuckled, covering his face briefly, “Since when were you so affectionate? Did Tinkerbell hit you with a love spell or something?” Peter didn’t move, staring at Felix as if he had said the most precious thing possible, “Peter?” He turned over, spooked by the euphoric, almost empty smile on Peter’s face._

_“Tinkerbell,” Peter said quietly, voice low and tinged with the wrong accent, “Yes. I suppose she did,” He rolled Felix onto his back slowly, hands gliding down his body intimately before settling on either side of his hips, “Would you prefer I be less affectionate?”_

_Felix shook his head, “No. I like this. I like it when you’re gentle,” His hands came to rest in the small of Peter’s back, culling him in slowly, lips meeting before their bodies came together, clothes pressed aside as the two stripped down for each other._

_“Hey Peter,” Felix murmured, breaking away from the kiss as he watched Peter unclasp his belt._

_“What is it?” Peter replied, licking his lips, making them glisten in the moonlight._

_Felix blinked twice, confused at himself, “Who’s Tinkerbell?”_

Felix’s eyes snapped open, his breath choppy and stuttering. He was empty in his room, still covered in sweat and come that had yet to dry.

 

“No, not again,” Felix whined, finding himself bound to a chair, arms restrained to the back and ankles restrained to the legs of the chair, exposing his genitals to the camera placed in front of him, “Don’t do this.”

“Don’t be like that,” Malcolm said, humming joyfully as he went through all the gags hanging on the wall, giggling as he settled on a pecker gag, “Think of it as a game. You like games, right?”

Felix shuddered when Malcolm came around, making eye contact as he knelt and stroked his bare thighs, “I don’t want to play any games with you,” He said, tearing away when Malcolm tried to strap the gag onto him, “Stop it!” He bit down hard on Malcolm’s fingers when he tried prying his mouth open, snarling when Malcolm pulled away and slapped him in the face.

“You know I don’t like it when you misbehave,” Malcolm said, taking Felix by the hair and pointing his head up at a painful angle, “Do you want me to tear our all your teeth? Do you think I won’t?”

Felix shuddered at the threat, eyes immediately flickering to the toolbox behind Malcolm. The threat wasn’t empty when it came from this psychopath. Felix shut his eyes, lips trembling as he opened his mouth, docile and weak. Malcolm smiled, stuffing the gag till the pecker nearly touched the back of Felix’s throat before strapping it in place.

“It’s for your own good,” Malcolm said, “You wouldn’t want to bite off your own tongue, would you?”

Felix hummed in confusion, watching Malcolm cautiously before breaking into a cold sweat at the sight of _jumper cables_. He squealed behind the gag, thrashing lightly as Malcolm hooked up a car battery to several panels on a table, taking several electrodes and sticking them to Felix’s body: His temples, his chest, his thighs, _the head of his cock, his testicles_. Felix’s eyes grew wide, staring at Malcolm pleadingly.

Malcolm met his gaze, a dreamy look on his face as he ran his hands up Felix’s trembling torso, “Almost perfect, _almost_ ,” He reached into his suitcase. Felix couldn’t see what he was fiddling with, could only hear wires being snapped into place and some sort of sleeve being rolled in. Felix shuddered when he turned, screaming behind his gag hysterically when Malcolm returned with an artificial cock, hooked up with wires, connected to the panel behind him, “I made this myself. I hope you enjoy it,” He jammed it inside of Felix, sliding it in smoothly from the lube he had applied.

Felix screamed unceasingly, more from terror than the brutality of the intrusion himself. Malcolm waited for him to calm, growling when Felix wouldn’t stop. In a burst of rage, Malcolm flipped a switch on the panel beside him. The pain shocked Felix silent, his body lit with fire as electricity coursed through his genitals. His eyes rolled back, his teeth nearly breaking against the gag, before Malcolm flipped it off. Felix collapsed against his bonds, limp and helpless as he panted behind his gag.

“Finally quieted down then?” Malcolm asked, lifting Felix’s chin, “I can’t start our game until you settle down.”

Felix pleaded with his eyes, whimpering as loudly as he could, trying anything to deter Malcolm from torturing him anymore. He watched Malcolm flip the camera on, lights nearly blinding him as they illuminated him front and center on the stage that was Malcolm’s personal dungeon. He could see himself in the screen behind Malcolm, centered and still like a mugshot with his genitalia on full display, a dildo stretching his ass open.

“Do you like card games?” Malcolm asked, shuffling a deck of cards, “You ever play Blackjack?”

Felix nodded, slow and weak, watching as Malcolm set up two hands of cards, one for Felix to see, the other on a separate camera.

“You’re going to be playing with our streamers for an hour,” Malcolm said with a smirk, “You win, I cut five minutes off our show. They win, well, I’m sure you can figure out what happens. Sound good?” _As if Felix even had a choice_ , “Good. Let’s start.”

Heart pounding in his ears, Felix could barely pay attention to the game. Right off the bat, with a nod for another card and a shake to stay, Felix had already gone over the limit, “Really, Felix? Should’ve stayed at 18,” Malcolm criticized, hands fiddling with the panel, “One minute, to start you off, okay?”

Convulsing, eyes rolling to the back of his head, Felix screamed behind his gag, body thrashing and helpless as Malcolm subjected him to electric torture. It felt like an eternity before he flipped off the machine, letting Felix rest for a minute before dealing another hand.

 

Two days of endless torture, five days of torture only at night. Even without awareness of the time, Felix could tell that this was a work schedule. He had to put up with two days of brainwashing and brutality to be rewarded with a daytime all to himself. He stood from his bed, shuffling over to the door, a wire tucked in his leather cuffs.

_Packing material, no doubt something used to secure one of the many bondage apparatuses Malcolm owned._ Felix uncoiled the wire, shaping it slowly. One of his friends had taught him how to pick a lock; Felix hoped he still retained this skill. Kneeling in front of the door, Felix shaped the pick into a hook and slid it into the lock, jiggling it, listening to the tumblers carefully.

Felix’s fingers were trembling, fear racking his body if Malcolm caught him, “Calm down, _calm down_ ,” He whispered to himself, shutting his eyes, concentrating on nothing but the lock. He had the entire day to do this. There was nothing to be afraid—

_Click_.

Felix’s eyes snapped open. He took the doorknob, turning it slowly and almost in tears as it opened. He broke into a wide smile, collapsing onto the ground as he immediately went to work on his shackles. The pair on his ankles were easy to pick out of with the bonus motivation. The ones around his wrists were more advanced. No matter, the chain between them gave him more than enough slack to utilize them.

Cautiously, Felix stepped out into the hall Malcolm so often led him into. There were six rooms including his own. Two rooms in the front where Malcolm’s dungeon was built. A third room containing what appeared to be a rec room of sorts, TV and billiard table ready. _No computer, no phone_ , nothing to contact the outside. Spotting the stairs, Felix nearly sprinted over ready to fall to his knees and pick the lock only to be denied by a keypad. He clicked his tongue, surprised Malcolm had thought in advance for this lock. _No doubt if his captive somehow managed to kill Malcolm, they’d be doomed to be trapped in the basement without the passcode._

This left two more rooms for him to explore, the only two rooms Felix was never once allowed inside. He made his way down the stairs, heading to the back where the last two rooms remained. Immediately he caught a bitter scent in the air, driving him away from the door on the right. He swallowed, finding his body chilled to its core just from the presence of the right-side door. Driving the thought of his mind, he grabbed the left door knob and pushed the door open, finding himself in what appeared to be an office, or at least, a disturbing mockery of such.

Felix blinked as he entered, puzzled at why there was an office down here complete with bulletin board, desk, file cabinets, image printers, calendars, but most importantly _a laptop._ He rushed towards it, flipping it open, waiting for it to start up and immediately disappointed when a password screen popped up. He clicked his tongue, fingers fidgeting over the keyboard, trying out anything he could think of as a password: _Felix, Neverland, Peter Pan, Dark Hollow_. After several tries, he was locked out. He shut the laptop, hoping the login screen would reset before Malcolm returned.

Giving up on the laptop, Felix’s attention was immediately drawn to the bulletin board, covered in photos and maps connected with strings, “What the fuck,” He muttered under his breath, finding _his photos_ pinned all over the board. Pictures of him leaving work, picking up dinner at the convenience store regularly and picking up dinner at the local diner after pay day. His fingers shook when he found pictures of him leaving the college campus. He dropped out of college _last year_. Just how long had Malcolm been watching him?

At closer inspection, Felix realized the maps and strings outlined _his usual routes_ , back and forth from the coffee shop, the library to his apartment, even his classes on the campus had dust covered string attached to them. His eyes flickered to the corner, finding a picture of _his parents’ house_ , estranged from the photos just as they were estranged from Felix’s life.

Life details that couldn’t be captured in pictures were found on post-its: His work schedule, his usual meal from Granny’s diner, his most checked out books. Felix covered his mouth, fighting the urge to vomit at the sheer detail Malcolm knew of his life.

A second wave of horror caught him when he eyed the file cabinets. This work was too impeccable, too detailed; there was no way he did this on his first try. Felix opened the top shelf of the nearest cabinet, stomach dropping when he found pictures of another young man, blond and lanky, _just like him_. He reached into the papers, sorting through more photos, more post-its, map fragments from _New York._ He always assumed he was still in Maine but the map fragments from each cabinet proved that Malcolm stalked his prey _everywhere_.

The further Felix went, the more dated and worn the documents became. Print-out photos from a high-quality image printer became _polaroids_. Dates on the maps went back nearly _20 years_. Felix found his fingers trembling once more as he slammed the cabinets shut. _He wasn’t the first_. There were plenty more before him that Malcolm tried to mold into his beloved “Felix”.

_What happened to them?_

Felix found himself in front of the final room. He had to know their fate, had to know _his final fate._ He opened the door, eyes wide, unsure of what he expected to find. To his surprise, _the room was nearly bare_. There were three tables, one large one in the middle that reeked of bleach and two on one side of the room. There was a large case under the middle table, a combination lock holding it shut. In the back was a refrigerator beside a cloth covered pile. Felix swallowed, inexplicably drawn to the fridge. He knew the answer to his question lay in this fridge, knew he had to see it first hand, _knew he may not get another chance until it was too late._

Felix opened the freezer, finding six bloodied bags stuffed in the back. Not heads, not limbs, Felix could barely tell until he made out what appeared to be a ventricle in the closest bag. _Hearts_ , six hearts. His chest began to burn, eyes watering, pupils dilated. Malcolm had _six_ victims before him, all of them failing to satisfy him. Felix’s eye for detail, now a curse at the sight of such vile remnants, caught how each heart seemed to be carved better than the last, Malcolm no doubt mastering his craft.

Unable to stop himself, Felix yanked the cloth off the pile beside the fridge, revealing an empty steel barrel, “No, no, no, no, no,” Felix’s words dissolved into delirious babbling, his thoughts incoherent as he backed away slowly. A heart in a fridge, a body stuffed into a barrel and buried god knows where. This was his final fate. The horror was so mortifying and brain-numbing, Felix nearly missed the firm hands gripping onto his elbows, a polo shirt colliding his back.

A peppery scruff rubbed against his cheek, a soft voice whispering into his ear, “Had fun stretching your legs?”

Felix screamed in terror, thrashing, fighting, delirious with fear as Malcolm took him around the neck and dragged him out of the room, other hand gripping onto the chain between his wrists and yanking him backwards, “No! Stop! Please stop!” Felix screamed, voice breaking, “ _Help_!” He cried to no one.

 

Suspending in the air by his bound wrists, Felix stared at Malcolm with wide, fearful eyes. Malcolm had stuffed one of his leather gags into Felix’s mouth, sitting in a chair in front of Felix while he waited for his captive’s delirious screaming to stop. Malcolm tilted his head when he noticed Felix’s breathing slow down, his terror finally subsiding into just fear. Malcolm smiled gently at him, leaning forward onto his knees as Felix’s eyes began to focus once more, muted screams turning into whimpers.

“Thank you, Felix,” Malcolm murmured, simply staring at his suspended captive with a euphoric look.

The leather was thick in his mouth, holding down his tongue and filling the space, muffling him better than the other gags did. Felix did his best not to cry to prevent himself from suffocating himself if his nose was plugged. He knew Malcolm understood this and _enjoyed_ Felix’s practicality. He kept whimpering though, still fearful but no longer wracked with uncontrollable terror.

“Number five was the closest, you know,” Malcolm started, eyes clouded as he lost himself to a memory, “He was a survivalist, just like Felix. Tall, blond, handsome, a bit bulkier than Felix but lean enough. His eyes were brown though, such a shame, but I could live with that,” Malcolm licked his lips, “Such a pretty boy he was. Just like you,” He scoffed, laughing at himself, “But he didn’t take to the dreams well. Could barely remember them,” He lifted his hand, fingers flexing as if he had taken hold of something, “And his heart. It was the wrong… _shape_.”

Felix stiffened once more, eyes unblinking as he watched Malcolm’s attention focus back onto him, “You. You’re a dead ringer for him,” His hollow cheeks, silver eyes, the dimple on his left cheek, _even his name._ He flexed his fingers, trying to stop them from jittering in excitement, “I’ve got a good feeling about it this time. You’re the one. I’m sure of it.”

_How many times has he said this to his captives?_ Felix didn’t want to think about it, didn’t know which fate would be worse: Stuffed into a barrel or brainwashed into his ‘Felix’. His eyes were asking questions Malcolm didn’t want to hear. From that mere gesture alone, Malcolm’s mood darkened, eyes suddenly hooded and heavy.

“You went somewhere you weren’t supposed to. You need to be punished.”

 

_Sorry. Had an errand to run. What did I miss?_ Malcolm tapped away into his work chat room after returning to his desk and the chicken club he was having for lunch. He switched windows, waiting for a response as he continued his work designing the starting level of the latest iteration of the _Neverland_ video game series. He hummed to himself, eyes looking over to the tablet on his desk, where the _cameras in the basement_ were set up. He licked his lips, switching to the camera he had just set up, displaying Felix hogtied in the air with a vibrator stuffed deep inside of him, eyes clouded with lust as he begged for mercy behind his gag.

Chuckling, Malcolm absently kneaded at the bulge in his pants before returning to work.

 

It was easier to give in to Malcolm’s demands. Felix reasoned with himself that he was only doing this to make his suffering less, to make the best of his life now under the thumb of a madman. It wasn’t true to an extent. Malcolm’s harshest games would happen regardless but at least he wouldn’t suffer additional punishment.

That day, in one of their shared dreams, Felix came to Peter on his own despite having his own duties on the island. He came to his leader who waited for him at the cliff and held him in his arms, feeling found for the first time since Malcolm kidnapped him. Felix didn’t know what he was doing, didn’t know why he was embracing his captor with such affection, but for some bizarre and broken reason, _it felt right_. That day, Malcolm released his bonds and he was permitted to wait patiently in his room under silken bed sheets for his lover to come for him after work.

Felix was laying a trap. Felix was waiting for Malcolm’s guard to fall. He had gone so far with his plan, Felix had to cling onto it. Why else would he be so obedient? Why else would he genuinely laugh at Malcolm’s antics and jokes prior to his unforgiving games? This was what Felix kept telling himself as he cleansed himself, soaping his body with a sponge and gently rinsing out his hair, eyeing the camera that he knew Malcolm was looking through.

Felix heard the door open just as he dumped a handful of water from the basin over his hair, rinsing out the last of the suds. Malcolm smiled sweetly, entranced by the sight of Felix simply bathing himself instead of being forcibly and violently scrubbed by Malcolm. He giggled lightly, circling Felix with thinly veiled glee before sitting back in his usual wooden chair and _collapsing to the ground_ as the two back legs gave way.

Sputtering stupidly, Malcolm’s eyes immediately fixed upon Felix who _chuckled heartily_ , gesturing to the two screws he had managed to take off from his chair. A _practical joke_ despite their horrible relationship in this wretched prison. Malcolm’s eyes sparkled, a pang in his heart and a twitch in his crotch as he stood and proudly stated, “You’re ready.”

_Ready._ This entailed two things.

Felix sat at the edge of the bed, smiling pleasantly as Malcolm dried his hair with a towel. He didn’t know why he felt so excited, like something _good_ was finally going to happen. He wasn’t sure if it was his true self speaking or the creature Malcolm molded him into.

“You’re so close,” Malcolm said, putting the towel aside. He stepped out of Felix’s room, not even bothering with the lock as he returned with a small trolley. Upon it was a small stack of towels, a roll of gauze, a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, a bowl of water, but most importantly _a switchblade._

Felix’s fingers twitched, his true self, the one that still believed this was just an act to lower Malcolm’s guard, resurfacing.

“This is the last detail. With this, you’ll be perfect,” He sat in front of Felix, taking the knife and dabbing it with hydrogen peroxide, “You can do it yourself or I can do it. I can put you to sleep too, if you want,” Malcolm said, taking out a bottle of chloroform from his jacket.

_This_ , this was it. Felix blinked the inspiration from his eyes, trying to act unfocused and dreamy as he usually did to supplicate Malcolm, “I want to be awake,” He watched Malcolm put the bottle of chloroform down on the trolley, “But I want you to do it,” He took Malcolm’s wrist when he tried to lower Felix onto the bed over a towel, “Can you tie me down so I don’t struggle?”

“Sure,” Malcolm replied, voice and expression too sweet for what he had done and what he was about to do. He left the room to retrieve the shackles he had once imprisoned Felix in before, leaving everything Felix needed to escape in his hand. He took a handful of gauze, soaking them in chloroform and waited on the bed, heart racing in _excitement_.

Malcolm returned, placing the shackles on his lap, smiling, “Are you ready?” He paused, brow twitching, catching the sweet scent of chloroform too late as Felix charged forward and smothered him with the cloth, both tangling and struggling on the ground until Malcolm eventually passed out.

Felix stood slowly, eyes narrowed with all the defiance he once had, “Yeah. I’m ready.”

 

Malcolm woke from a dreamless sleep, head spinning when he found himself bound to the head board by the same shackles he brought for Felix. His heart stuttered when he saw Felix on the edge of the bed, holding the switchblade in his hands. Malcolm didn’t look angry in the slightest, on the contrary, his face was creased with heartbreak.

“W-what… Felix,” Malcolm gasped, brows knitted in confusion, “I thought things were good. I thought we were ready.”

“ _Good_?” Felix hissed out, all of his latent anger pouring out, “You kidnapped me. You _tortured_ me for months!” He punched the bed, realizing how close he was to losing himself, “You almost destroyed me.”

Malcolm blinked twice, almost like he couldn’t believe what was happening. He clicked his tongue when Felix grabbed his collar, yanking him forward and holding the switchblade under his chin. Felix could feel his pattering heartbeat, fearful and for the first time in a while, out of control, “You don’t know the passcode out.”

Felix’s mouth stretched into a sadistic smile. For a brief moment, Malcolm no longer felt afraid despite Felix’s contradictory expression, “Oh-Nine, Twenty,” Malcolm’s widened eyes confirmed his fear, “September 20th, the day you brought Felix to Neverland, the day you chose to be Felix’s birthday when he could no longer remember his own,” He tightened his grip on his collar, “How could I forget?”

 Malcolm’ gaze quivered and Felix felt so much strength, so much confidence surging through him. The power was a drug and Felix was losing himself to it. However, the power faded as quickly as it came over him as Malcolm’s fearful expression _turned into a smile_ , a smile so grotesque and gleeful that Felix felt like he was staring at the devil himself.

“W-What…” Felix stuttered, eyes flickering to the shackles, absolutely sure they were secured. Malcolm couldn’t use his powers when they were both awake, “Why are you smiling?” He dropped the knife beside Malcolm, grabbing his collar and shaking him, “I’m the one in power now, not you. I’m going to kill you!” Felix’s voice broke as he shouted, trying so hard to be intimidating but failing at Malcolm’s utterly smug expression, “St-Stop it. Stop it. Stop it!”

“Felix, my love,” Malcolm started, voice so smooth and confident, Felix nearly melted at the sound, “If you knew how to get out, why haven’t you killed me yet?”

Felix’s eye twitched, trying to fill himself with rage, “Because I want you to suffer before you die. I want to put you through everything you put me through,” Yet, here he was, laying on the bed with just his wrists bound. He could have dragged Malcolm into the dungeon, strung him up on some demented sex toy, tortured him awake instead of waiting for the chloroform to wear off laying on a bed of silk sheets.

“I know you feel it too,” Malcolm said, almost cooing, “You know we belong together. You know you’re my Felix. That’s why you can’t hurt me.”

“Shut up! I’m the one in power now, not you,” Felix shouted, climbing onto Malcolm’s chest, taking the knife once more but unable to draw blood even when he pressed it against Malcolm’s skin, “I’ll cut you open right now if you don’t shut the hell up!”

Malcolm looked on with the utmost confidence, like the hero of his own story, “I didn’t destroy you. I woke you up.”

Felix was shaking his head, shutting his eyes, gripping into his hair, blade pressed haphazardly against his skull, “You poisoned my mind! You ruined me!”

_Stockholm Syndrome_ , Felix could even put a name to it but for some reason, he couldn’t break the twisted chains that tied him to this man. He stared at him with unfocused eyes, an uneven heartbeat, and a trembling body.

“Felix. I’m so sorry for everything I’ve done to get you back,” Malcolm said, a gentle smile on his face, “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll make it all better.’

_Enough. This was enough. “_ Shut up. Shut up! _Shut up!_ ” Felix lifted the blade and drew blood. Malcolm watched on in shock and glee, seeing the blade sink its way into Felix’s right cheek and draw itself across his nose and upward. His face lit up like a child at his own birthday party, the greatest gift he could possibly get sitting on his chest right now.

 

So much blood spilt, so many innocent lives lost, but it was okay now. Peter and Felix were together again and that was all that mattered.

“Let’s go camping sometime,” Malcolm said, stroking Felix’s hair as the young man lay on his chest peacefully, “It’ll be just like Neverland. Almost.”

Felix curled up beside him, adjusting the gauze taped across his self-inflicted gash, “That sounds fun,” He played with the hair on Malcolm’s chest, eyes flickering up to stare into Malcolm’s eyes, “I miss Neverland.”

Malcolm held him tighter, saddened for a moment, “Me too,” He whispered, stroking Felix’s back, “But we’ll make it through, now that we’re back together.”

“Together forever,” Felix murmured, shutting his eyes, drifting off in Malcolm’s comforting embrace, opening his eyes again and finding himself in Neverland, Peter’s beautiful eyes staring down at him affectionately, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Peter said, voice low and seductive as he lowered his body onto Felix’s.

 

Their beautiful dream ended a year later. The case was cold; the murders had stopped. Felix’s friends had abandoned hope. Felix’s parents gave up on him long ago. There was literally no one else looking for him until _his old manager_ found the fetish video Felix had been forced to participate in. The line that triggered his memory: _Colin, Malcolm, or Peter, whoever the hell you are._ It was an absurd lead, just a customer with black grungy hair and thick plastic glasses that constantly asked for Felix and had his cup signed _Colin_.

The manager remembered him so clearly because he had seen him _without disguise_ before. The first time he saw him was the first time Malcolm met Felix, coming to the coffee shop with a small group of co-workers from the local game development company. It was utterly bizarre that he started showing up in disguise but the manager never thought anything of it even after Felix was kidnapped. Out of sheer dumb luck, a cruel joke posted on his social media, he spotted Felix in the sick fetish video and heard those three names, triggering this memory.

From just a name, they traced the company he worked for, traced him to an employee that took vacation days and remote days around the time Felix disappeared, and that brought him to the culprit. In a brilliant and sudden act of justice, Felix’s nightmare finally ended.

Malcolm was dragged from his home, ranting and thrashing as they took Felix away from him. Felix reached for him, eyes wild and desperate. He hadn’t realized he had not stepped foot outside of his prison since the day Malcolm kidnapped him, the sun blinding his eyes, the gravel harsh against his soft feet. This was supposed to be a special moment between him and Malcolm, his first night out since he woke up.

Instead, they were being ripped apart.

“I love him,” Felix said, handcuffed to the table when he tried to assault the officer in front of him, “He takes care of me. He feeds me. He keeps me company. He’s everything I could ever want.”

The officer looked unamused, face solemn as he spoke. It didn’t matter how much proof they had against Malcolm’s innocence, didn’t matter how many people he had affected with his six murders, didn’t matter how many _videos_ they found of Felix online, sold to fetish sites for a quick buck, Felix would not waver. Even when his parents came in, teary eyed and remorseful for abandoning their son to his own devices, Felix could not hear anyone else but Malcolm and Peter, whispering sweet words into his ears. The officers deemed him an unfit witness and committed him to the hospital. It didn’t matter; Malcolm had more than enough evidence tucked away in his basement to give him the death sentence.

It took a year of psychological help, a year of rehabilitation, a year of reconciling with his parents, before Felix finally woke up again. Through counselling and hard medication, Felix could break apart the shell he had built to keep himself safe, the hours upon hours of behavioural training Malcolm forced upon him. _Stockholm syndrome,_ taken root deep inside of him, being chipped away with every session.

He could remember now, all the times after he carved up his face, how he’d break away from Malcolm occasionally, shatter a mirror when he saw his awful disfiguration. There were times he could remember that he was _kidnapped and tortured_ and he hated Malcolm for it only for the older man to _torture him_ into submission, beat him back into line sexually, physically, and mentally, poison his thoughts with his bizarre, inexplicable powers.

The day Felix was released, taken back home by his parents who promised to nurse him back to health, it just so happened to coincide with the day before Malcolm’s execution. Despite warnings from his psychiatrist, Felix went to see him one last time.

Even when separated by glass and surrounded by guards, Malcolm was still a fearsome presence in Felix’s eyes. His assailant seemed older, his beard, once brown with dustings of grey, now completely black and white. His eyes were dull, no longer the beautiful stormy colours Peter once had. However, at the sight of Felix, they seemed to _twinkle_ when they made eye contact.

“Felix!” Malcolm shouted holding the phone to his ear, “I’m so glad to see you,” Felix said nothing, simply holding the phone to his ear, listening to Malcolm ramble on about how beautiful his eyes were or how much he loved his new haircut, “How’ve you been?” He paused, eyes soft as Felix watched him.

Felix had little to say, “Good.”

Malcolm nodded in acknowledgement, happy at the simple answer, “That’s good to hear,” He lowered his eyes in an almost remorseful way, “You know, I deserve all of this. After everything I’ve done to get you back, this just seems fitting, doesn’t it?”

Murder, rape, torture, captivity, Felix disagreed. He thought Malcolm deserved much worse than a simple death sentence, “Yeah,” He said quietly.

“We all have to pay the piper someday. Some of us just have a lot more debt than others,” Malcolm said, too calm for a man about to face his death. Too calm for a man who stuffed six bodies into barrels after carving out their hearts, “I just wish… things were different. I wish I steered clear of all this and just _waited_ till I met you at that coffee shop. We could’ve been together without all of this holding us apart.”

“Will you stop this?” Felix said, abrupt and harsh.

Malcolm blinked, confused by this sudden burst of emotion.

“You stalked, kidnapped, raped, tortured, and killed six people. All for what? _Felix_? Your imaginary lover?” Felix hissed, nails digging into the phone.

“It’s not imaginary!” Malcolm exclaimed, standing up, “I have powers. You know that. You felt them!” He touched the glass, nearly slamming his palm against it trying to reach Felix, “You saw Neverland. You saw Peter Pan. He’s real. You’re real.”

Those toxic words that once made Felix swoon and crumple had no effect. Felix scoffed loudly, finally glaring at him with all the hate he could muster, no longer held back by his fear, “You poisoned my mind,” He said once more confidently, “But I’m free of you now. There’s no Felix. There’s no Peter Pan. There’s no Neverland,” He swallowed, seeing fury bubbling under Malcolm’s cracking visage, “There’s just you and your sick, twisted fantasies. You weren’t doing this for Felix or anyone. You were doing this for yourself because you _liked_ it. You loved torturing me, beating me, raping me, and you used Felix as an excuse to justify all of it.”

A hand slammed against the glass, the guards grabbed him immediately, somehow struggling to restrain a man who was visibly weaker than them, “You bitch!” Malcolm growled, “I own you, Felix. You belong to me!” He struggled against the men, inhuman forces allowing him to overpower them for just a moment, “I won’t stop. I won’t let you go. Do you hear me, Felix?”

The guards pulled Malcolm away, eventually overpowering him and beating him when out of sight. Felix let the guards on his side of the glass escort him out, shutting his eyes and fortifying his resolve. Malcolm could not touch him anymore, not with his hands or his powers.

It was the longest 24 hours of his life but it finally passed. Felix didn’t attend the execution, only got word from an officer that the man who had terrorized and enslaved him was dead. This was all Felix needed to hear, a burden lifted from his shoulders as he fell backwards onto his childhood bed, staring up at the stars he had once painted upon the ceiling.

_It’s over. It’s finally over._

 

“Welcome back,” His rotund, thick-mustached manager greeted, patting Felix’s shoulder.

“Good to be back,” Felix replied, wiping down the stains on the counter from last night. He turned away briefly, checking on the baked goods in the oven behind him. They still had a minute or so before they were ready for the display shelf.

“Excuse me,” A customer said on the other side of the counter, “Can I get a small coffee?”

On reflex, Felix grabbed a cup from beside the baked goods, flipping a switch to start brewing a carafe of coffee, “Your name?” He asked, turning around with a marker only for two hands to grab his wrists firmly, almost snapping the bones. He dropped the marker, dropped the cup, unable to hear either of them clatter to the floor. His eyes were wide open but unable to comprehend what he was seeing.

The young man restraining him smiled, one brow lifted as he spoke, “Peter Pan.”

 

Waking with a gasp, Felix could hear a voice whispering to him, a formless body nestled into his side like a doting lover as it spoke, “ _I won’t stop. I won’t let you go.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Things that were planned:
> 
>   * Felix's life before the kidnapping: He works part-time as a barista and does actually end up smitten with Malcolm, feeling connected to him in a way he couldn't explain. This fully convinces Malcolm to kidnap him. His boss would have also been a prominent character, so his breakthrough at the end wouldn't have been out of nowhere
>   * Malcolm's mind magic would have been more prominent, heavily implying that this is the same Peter from OUAT, but aged and twisted after being reborn in this world. Likewise, the more Felix goes through his dreams, the more of the original Felix's memories he recovers
>   * Malcolm's job as a video game developer, recreating Neverland in his video game with Felix as the main character. I'm not fully sure how this would have worked into the story but it'd definitely have mentions here and there
>   * The true ending would have been Felix continuing Malcolm's work after inheriting his powers, kidnapping people who resemble Peter and grooming them into Peter, implying that this cycle has been going on for generations
> 



End file.
